


thrill your heart with still hands

by lovespring



Series: small death and codeine [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Begging, Birthday Sex, Body Worship, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Domestic Bliss, Dorks in Love, Hand Jobs, Implied Relationships, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Tenderness, lads he's getting fingered, they're in love and they fuck, this is pretty one-sided ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22099489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovespring/pseuds/lovespring
Summary: Steve will say please sometimes, strung-out and desperate, and it’s easily in the Top Three of Bucky’s favourite things to come out of Steve Rogers’ big stupid mouth. It’s also a surefire way for Steve Rogers to get whatever the fuck he wants, because Bucky is man with no spine.Or,Bucky pretends, for like an hour, that he does have a spine.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: small death and codeine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610878
Comments: 16
Kudos: 182





	thrill your heart with still hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steviebucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steviebucky/gifts).



> shoutout to steviebucky who left lovely comments on my other fic and gave me the idea of ~birthday sex~  
> was this was you envisioned? maybe not! hope u enjoy it anyway.
> 
> Also - as this is the next work in a series, I recommend you reading the first one. Plot-wise it doesn't matter, but it has a set-up nonetheless.

I

He gets the idea when Steve is riding him. It's like 3 am, and they're both strung-out, tired from being downtown, just enough loud music and buzz in their blood to make the world bright and beautiful even in the dark, to light a fire in their fingertips. Bucky likes to fuck with the lights on - because he's an exhibitionist, Steve will say, because anyone fucking Steve Rogers is gonna wanna do it with the lights on, Bucky will say - but Steve looks good like this too, he looks fucking ethereal, blue light from the window making diamonds and glass of the sweat on his skin. Bucky's sitting up against the headboard, with Steve rocking in his lap panting into his open mouth. It's quiet in their room, just hot breaths and wet skin and Bucky’s thinks he’s never felt this good in his life, turned on out of his mind, mouth hanging open and staring at Steve in front of him-

"Y’feel good." Steve says, low and slurred and Bucky grins, slapping the outside of Steve's thigh, just to feel him flex around his cock, rock up and down once. “ _Please_.” Steve says, and Bucky nods nonsensically, kisses him because he knows that Steve’s a talented little fuck who can multitask just fine when there’s something he wants badly enough. Bucky’s not gonna come yet, the feeling-good is a low burn under his skin, constant and delicious and drawn-out. With Steve rocking like he is, taking his own pleasure, Bucky’s content to just sit back and let whatever happens happen. It doesn’t stop Steve from getting desperate though, fisting his own cock and getting that sweet little furrow between his eyebrows like he’s focused, like he’s hurting. Jesus, Bucky’s so into him.

He squeezes Steve’s hip with his hand. “Hey,” he whispers, wiggling his hips a little. Steve’s eyes blink open, bleary and irritated and Bucky smiles. “Hey, dollface. Lemme lie down.” With minimal complaint, Steve stops his hedonistic spank bank material and lets Bucky slide down on the bed, the pillow propping him up. Steve goes back to fucking himself and Bucky’s eyes roll a little with how good it feels. “Jesus, honey.” He whispers when Steve arches his back - he looks mindless with it, eyes closed and face slack, twitching up every now and again. Bucky looks down then, at where Steve has his hand on his cock - he’s not jerking off really, just keeping it there and it makes Bucky think, in the middle of the muddled hormone-driven mess in his head. Steve is - well, Steve is like Bucky in the way that he’s too big of a hedonist to keep himself away from good things, and Steve is even more impulsive than Bucky, stumbling into things first and asking questions later, usually with a smile and buckets worth of charm to make up for the lack of tact. So Bucky takes his hand off Steve’s hip and folds it around his cock, tightening until Steve moans and lets go. “Sweetheart.” Bucky whispers as Steve leans forward with his hands on his chest. He writhes as Bucky moves his hand, biting his lips. “Oh, baby. You look - “

“Fuck, please.” Steve bites out, and Bucky chokes on his breath, groaning. He twists his wrist, thighs flexing with the exertion to keep to the bed. “ _Please_.” God, Bucky loves that fucking word.

“Yeah, honey?” He says. “You wanna come?” Steve nods, eyes fluttering, undulating his narrow hips and Bucky doesn’t know know where to look, torn between Steve’s cock, and his face, and his thighs twitching. “Go ahead, then.” He says when he feels Steve clenching up, hears his breath hitch. “Go ahead, honey, it’s fine.” Steve ducks down to press his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck, and Bucky can see the long curve of his back, flexing and undulating where he’s fucking himself down on Bucky’s lap and he can’t stand it - they’re so close and he just wants him closer, wants Steve Rogers under his skin, wants them to be inseparable and unrecognizable from each other, an entity - Steve comes, and to the violent shaking, the tremors under his skin, Bucky’s own orgasm almost feels secondary, too caught up in the feeling of Steve in his arms to think about anything else. He winds an arm tight around Steve’s middle and presses them together as they come down, sweat cooling on their skin almost immediately. 

Minutes later, Steve pulls away with a groan, and rolls over next to Bucky.

 _“Shit_. God, I’m tired.”

It makes Bucky laugh, voice fucked all to hell, and he deals with the condom, throwing it in the paper basket on the other side of his nightstand, even though it’s nasty and he’ll regret that in a week. He reaches out with his hand, tickling over Steve’s side. “Language.” He says, and without opening his eyes he knows Steve is sending him a look, annoyed and challenging.

“Fuck.” Steve breathes. “Jesus Christ a- _fucking_ -live, I’m so _fucking_ tired.” Bucky laughs again, cracks one eye open to look at Steve’s smiling face, the ice-water look of his sweat slicked chest heaving in the blue darkness. With his brain coming back online, and with the echoes of what they’d just done finding its place as the usual residual horniness, Bucky blinks at Steve, clearing his mind a little. Steve will say _please_ sometimes, strung-out and desperate as he gets and it’s easily in the Top Three of Bucky’s favourite things to come out of Steve Rogers’ big stupid mouth - right under “Bucky” and “I love you”. It’s also a surefire way for Steve Rogers to get whatever the fuck he wants, because Bucky is man with no spine - Steve doesn’t even really need to say please. He certainly doesn’t need to say it twice. But he does, sometimes, says it over and over again even when Bucky’s already giving in, hands in the air.

He drags his hand over Steve’s chest, lays it flat when he squirms. “I like it when you say please.” Steve’s eyes open to him staring into the ceiling.

“‘Course you do.” He says. “You’re a pervert.” Bucky moves closer, pulling the sheet they’d pushed to the foot of the bed over them. 

“I think you like it, too, huh.” Steve looks at him. Considering, for a second, then he closes the gap between them with a soft kiss, eyes full of secret smiles. 

He links his little finger with Bucky’s. “Night, Buck.” He closes his eyes. Bucky thinks on.

\--

Bucky starts planning Steve’s birthday a month before the actual date.

It’s not a surprise party or anything. He even pesters Steve about it, asks him for wishes and thoughts of the day, but because Steve Rogers insists on being a selfless asshole, he just gets vague answers and “it doesn’t have to be big deal, Bucky.” Yeah, right. This is the first time Steve has a birthday where Bucky’s allowed to kiss him all he wants. As _if_ it doesn’t have to be a big deal. Steve Rogers knows _nothing_.

“Do you wanna celebrate your birthday on the date this year?”

Steve hums, non-committal, from the kitchen counter, his head in the fridge because he can’t decide what multivitamin juice to get probably. They’re both still in their running gear, and Steve is flushed red and pretty, running hotter than usual because of the late start to the morning, the sun having gotten the jump on them. He pours orange juice into two glasses, and Bucky catches his eyes when he sits down in front of him. Steve shrugs. “Don’t you think people have plans?” Bucky gives him a look and rolls his eyes a little. 

“The only I’d want to invite who gives a fuck about the fourth of July is Wilson, and he’s not too big on fireworks is he.” Sam usually spends the fourth of July with them or at home with his parents, out of the city. He gets by just fine on his own, but Bucky wouldn’t wanna be alone when the entire world explodes around you either. Steve smiles then, a little like he’s the one indulging Bucky which. Fair enough, because he probably is. He leans forward on his arms, bats his eyelashes at Bucky.

“Who were you thinking of inviting, honey?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but Steve is looking pretty and paying attention to him, so it’s not like he’s gonna back down. “Okay, punk. Sam and Natasha at least, uh. Clint, Kate. Maybe Tony? As long as he behaves and lets me do my thing.” Steve nods at that at least, eyebrows going up in that way that makes him look ten years older and also like the father of at least three children who all play soccer in a house with many, many windows.

“No strippers.” He says and Bucky nods.

“Absolutely no strippers.” And then, because he’s always been a go for the gold sorta guy, he says: “Although I wouldn’t say no to watching you with a pretty girl in your lap. Hands behind your back maybe, woof.” Steve just narrows his eyes - he’s already a little flushed so Bucky can’t see his skin go pink, but he imagines it’s there.

“Back on track, soldier.”

Bucky’s grin is wide. “That’s it, I think. Let’s have a late lunch, use your birthday as an excuse to hang out with some people, right?”

Steve smiles, and it’s soft and loving, and he reaches over the table to take Bucky’s hand in his. “You know we don’t have to have people over, right? I don’t actually need more than you.” It’s a sweet lie, and Bucky knows that, but he’s okay with the way Steve is presenting it.

“It’s not a hardship, Rogers. I like our friends, I just don’t want all of them over all the time.”

“Sam’s over all the time.”

“Sam’s not my friend, he’s my mortal enemy. He’s different.”

Steve laughs and gets up, going to the kitchen counter to get out a bowl. “You guys love each other so much it kills me every day.” Bucky waves a hand, leans back to watch Steve, because - not much has changed, really, in their going from friendship to relationship, but what _has_ changed is that Bucky gets to openly and unabashedly stare at Steve whenever he wants, which is all the time, and he does, trailing his eyes over broad shoulders and narrow little hips while Steve gets breakfast for himself.

“Yeah, whatever.” Steve smiles over his shoulder in a way that Bucky knows means he’s been caught staring. Bucky wishes he cared about that. “Oh, you know what, Rogers.” He says, getting an idea. “I know who we should invite. Peggy Carter.” She moved back to the states a while ago, living in Manhattan somewhere, and Steve’s been catching up with her like the good college boy he is. Steve looks surprised at that, and then a little embarrassed and Bucky breaks in before he can say something stupid. “I’m not gonna be inappropriate. Promise.”

Steve looks at him with a warning in his eyes again and points at him with a spoon, a few pieces of granola flying to the floor. “You’ll behave.” He says, and Bucky wants to say _or what_ but it’s probably not the time, so he just nods dutifully, right hand on his heart, because both Steve’s bible and Bucky’s left arm is in the bedroom.

“I will, sweetheart.” He says, taking out his phone. “I’ll ask people what they’re doing, get something set up. You don’t have to worry about a thing.” Steve will always worry about many things, but Bucky likes to pretend. Steve washes his bowl, and dries it off immediately, because Sarah Rogers was a no-nonsense kinda woman, and goes to take a shower. Bucky makes an incredulous sound. “Gimme a kiss first.” He says, and his boy smiles, loose and pink-lipped because it doesn’t take that much to sweet-talk him. 

“You’re not gonna join me?” He asks, once he’s between Bucky’s legs, craning his neck down so Bucky can peck at his sweet, fruit-flavoured mouth.

Bucky puts a hand on Steve’s hip and squeezes. “I got a birthday to plan, sweetheart.” Kiss, kiss, Steve smiling against his face like something’s funny. “And we’re not gonna get clean if we shower together. Off you go.”

While Steve putts around in the bathroom, humming his toneless little songs, Bucky gets to texting people. Sam responds immediately, up for it. He makes coffee for himself and drinks it on the couch, waiting for the others to reply. Tony’s out of town that day, but has already gotten this present down, which Bucky expects will be incredibly expensive and very, very cool, so that Steve will have to argue with his own socialist self for an hour before accepting it. Natasha says yes as well, and so does Kate, which usually means that Clint will come along, even though it’s Sunday, so he won’t see the text before after lunch at some point. He texts Peggy Carter as well, even though the last time they talked was when she was dating Steve while Bucky was away at MIT. She knows they’re together, though, and responds in kind to Bucky’s message with her English little ‘xx’ at the end.

When he’s done Steve comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips and. Well. Bucky needed a shower anyway. He gets up and bullies Steve closer to a wall, hand all over him. “You working today?” He asks, and Steve nods, laughing when Bucky groans into his neck. Tragedy of tragedies. 

“The museum has a late open, though. I gotta guide a group of nursing home residents around in the new exhibition.” Bucky bites at Steve’s pec, just over his nipple and Steve chokes on a gasp, needy and surprised, which is the wrong sound to make if you _don’t_ wanna get fucked against a wall. “God,” he whispers, winding his arms around Bucky’s neck, pulling him close - his towel falls away, or maybe Bucky whips it off, whatever, so Bucky can feel all of him, warm and soft and all his. Steve laughs into Bucky’s hair. “I thought I needed a break.”

Bucky kisses at his cheek, leaning a little away. “Was it too much, last night?” It’s mostly a tease, but a little concerned, too, but Steve just shakes his head, pressing their foreheads together.

“Nah,” he says, “But even the best of us needs to take a break from getting fucked sometimes.”

Bucky coos, and rubs his hand down Steve’s back. “You wanna switch it up? I’ll let you fuck me, sweetheart.”

“Christ, Bucky.”

“Wanna get in me? I know it’s not your favorite but I bet we can make it good.”

“I hate you so much.” It’s breathy, and loses its meaning when Bucky grinds up against him, even his soft work-out shorts probably feeling too much on Steve’s skin, scrubbed raw and pink from the shower. He kisses at Steve’s neck, letting him take their weight because his hand’s busy with holding Steve close at his lower back. 

“You started it.”

Steve grumbles, but he’s started moving, too, pressing the inside of his thigh against Bucky’s hip. Whatever. He’s naked and asking for it, Bucky’s not gonna be the fucking adult in this situation. “Bucky, I have _work_.”

“You said it was a late open!” 

It is, but Steve still only just manages his shift in time, sending Bucky many pretend-angry messages on his lunch break. Neither of them are particularly good at the quick part of the quickie thing.

II

“Sam asks if he can bring a lady friend.” Bucky says, his voice loud to reach Steve in the kitchen, rising above the traffic from outside and Steve’s podcast from the speaker. An art history one because Steve has a brand and sticks to it. 

Steve fiddles with the pot on the stove and shouts back. “You okay with that?”

“It’s your birthday, dumbass.” All the windows in their apartment are open, letting golden light in and Bucky’s lounging on the couch, because Steve insisted on making their late dinner. 

Steve is suddenly leaning over the couch, getting down into Bucky’s face and trapping him, pulling a surprised squawk out of his mouth. “Yeah, but I’m asking you, _dumbass_.” He laughs when Bucky growls and lets himself be pushed away. God, his Stevie’s so sweet. He’s quietly considerate, like he’s paying back for all the times Bucky was overbearing and motherly in high school without being obvious about it. Except he’s super obvious about it, to Bucky especially, because their senses are tuned into each other to a point where Bucky doubts that they could hide anything. The closest thing mankind could ever get to mind-reading, right there in Steve Rogers’ stupid sunflower smile. Bucky sees it all, and Steve is only cool with it because Bucky can’t hide anything from him either. So when Steve asks him questions like that, Bucky gets to be an asshole about it because Steve was an asshole all through high school, too. 

Bucky _is_ okay with Sam bringing a lady friend, because he trusts Sam’s judgement and he’d also love to embarrass him in front of potential girlfriends. The fact that Stevie asks because Bucky’s not the biggest people person makes him feel tender and squirmy so he gets up off the couch and sidles up to Steve where he’s standing against the counter back in the kitchen, so he can feel tender and squirmy with him. 

He kisses at Steve’s neck until he sees chills on his skin and Steve squirms happily in his arms. “Everything okay for tomorrow?” Steve asks, leaning back. 

“Mhm,” Bucky hums, pressing close, “drinks are taken care of and we’ll order sushi from that fancy place.”

“The expensive one?”

“Yeah, punk, we’re living in the lap of luxury just for tomorrow.” Steve is a little taller than him, an inch or so, which means Bucky’s a real good height to press his face into Steve’s neck, to nuzzle up under his ear. “The guys will come over and hang out with us for a few hours, then they’ll go home and I’ll have you all to myself.” Steve shivers and Bucky can’t be sure exactly why, because in that moment he sneaks his hands under the hem of Steve’s shirt, metal fingers no doubt cool on his skin. 

Steve turns his head so Bucky can see the pink edge of his smile. “You’ll have your wicked way with me?” It’s said with a laugh so he leans away a little, just so Steve can see his face, his arched eyebrows.

“You think I’m joking?” He spins Steve around and moves him to the side so he can press him up against the counter again - Steve scrambles for a second, laughing as he fumbles to turn the stove off. Then his hands settle on Bucky’s shoulders, his neck, playing with his hair. He looks excited. _Don’t want a birthday party_. Right. “You don’t think I got plans for you?” Bucky says, leaning close so that their lips touch when he speaks. Steve quirks an eyebrow and it’s like a challenge, and Bucky’s bad at backing down from challenges and especially bad when it’s Steve Rogers giving them.

Steve curls his hands in the front of Bucky’s shirt. “What plans?” He asks, and Bucky shrugs.

“Don’t wanna spoil the surprise, do I.”

“Don’t you?” He kisses Bucky then, sweet and wet and smiling. “Gimme a clue.” He says, nudging their noses together. 

“Maybe I just wanna hear you beg some more.”

“The Rogers family doesn’t beg.”

“I don’t wanna bring your mother into this, pal, but you most definitely do.”

“Fuck you. Siri, play birthday sex.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass, Rogers.”

\---

When they wake up on Steve’s birthday it’s raining outside, and Bucky can’t find it in him to care. He kisses Steve awake and makes them coffee to drink in bed, holding the mug carefully away from Steve’s fingers when he reaches for it.

“Say please.” Bucky mumbles.

Steve pouts, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “It’s my birthday.” He says, voice tired and a little petulant, because he’s not awake enough to be self-conscious or proud yet. And then, before Bucky has to asks again he says “please” quietly and Bucky gives in because - because, god, how could he not. Even with his plans for tonight - Bucky’s geared towards giving everything Steve asks for. 

Doesn’t mean they can’t play around a little.

He can’t keep his hands off of Steve when they’re getting ready, constantly snatching at his waist and his tempting little hips, hooking two fingers in his back pocket and pulling - and because they are who they are, this doesn’t give anything away. Pushing each other against the nearest wall every other minute is just another Tuesday, really. They clean up around the apartment, and Steve gets in his hostess-with-the-mostest mood, excited and a little preening, even though he insists it’s not a big deal. Bucky thinks it’s adorable. They dress up a little, and Bucky checks that his order’s the way it’s supposed to be, setting the dinner table they never use, close to the windows in a corner of the living room.

Peggy is the first one to arrive. She’s just as beautiful as Bucky remembers her, and like she’s grown into it a bit. He was real torn up about it, back when she started dating Steve, but there’s no bitterness left seeing her now. 

“Bucky!” She says, because Steve only ever talked about him as such, and it took her like a year to figure out James was his real name. When they hug, her hand and eyes linger on his left arm, and Bucky knows she must feel the prosthetic through his shirt, but her well-bred tactfulness doesn’t let anything pass over her face other than polite reconciliation, happiness to see them again. Once they’ve led Peggy to the couch, there’s another knock on the door, and it’s Natasha this time, with a bottle of wine in her hand. Next is Sam, who has a dark-haired woman with him called Maria, who he met at a VA meeting. She has a hard-set jaw and calculating eyes and Bucky figures he probably won’t be able to convince her of anything. Last is Clint and Kate, and Bucky’s making himself busy in the kitchen, coffee and tea mostly, since Kate’s got drinks covered for those who want them. 

It’s nice. It’s still raining a little outside, but it’s warm in here, and Steve keeps catching his eye and smiling like he’s the happiest man in the world, and Bucky feels that smile in his knees. Steve lets him take care of things too, which means Bucky gets to duck out of conversation from time to time to let in the delivery guy, and fetch people drinks when they start eating, floating back and forth and observing his dinner guests. Steve is between him and Sam, and Bucky’s next to Peggy, who in a moment where they’re both quiet nods towards his left. “That’s new.” She says, gentle but unguarded.

He shrugs and wriggles his fingers, letting the metal catch the light. “We have a friend who dabbles.”

“In robotic limbs?”

Bucky smiles. “Amongst other things.”

Kate leaves first, and Clint follows her out like a puppy. Later Natasha grabs one of the bottles of wine on the table and catches Maria’s eyes for half a second, and when the two of them and Sam leave together, Bucky has to fight real hard not to laugh.

The city lights reflect off of wet darkness outside when Peggy goes to leave.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He says, catching the crook of Steve’s elbow when Peggy’s asked to use their bathroom. “Why don’t you walk Peggy to the station? Give me a chance to get ready.” Steve is nodding carelessly, kissing at Bucky’s cheek, but then he stops, cocking his head to the side.

“Get ready?” He says. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky just shrugs, trailing the fingers of his right arm over Steve’s throat.

“Told you I had plans for you.” Then he turns his head, right when Peggy comes back into the living room. She’s smiling in that way she has, like she knows something no one else in the room knows, or more likely, has some kind of idea what’s going to happen when she leaves. 

Steve stands up and looks out of the windows. It’s still raining, and the sky’s dark asphalt gray. “Yeah,” he says, shrugging on a jacket. 

It’s not like there’s a lot to do once Steve leaves. He clears out the table, leaving the washing up for the morning after, and once he enters their bedroom, there’s a pull under his skin, excitement real and tangible and jumping the gun, just a bit. He changes out of his dress shirt and slacks and puts on something soft. He gets two water bottles beside the bed, lube and condoms in the drawer. A soft wash cloth. No rose petals, but a couple of candles on the dresser. And then the ribbon, long and stretchy, silky black. Maybe. If Steve’s okay with that. Just to tie his wrists together, to keep him a little controlled and held down while he’s worked over. Bucky is almost contemplating taking a cold shower when the door opens, and he glides back out, helping Steve out of his wet raincoat. 

“I let Peggy take the umbrella.” Steve says, and Bucky starts kissing him. “She’ll bring it back - “ pushing him softly against the hallway wall “- bring it back next time we see each other.” He shuts up when Bucky puts his tongue in his mouth, soft and inviting, and Steve melts a little, burrowing closer. He puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, squeezing, and lets himself be kissed. His eyes are glassy when Bucky leans back. 

“Thank you for today.” He says, and Bucky smiles. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart. Day’s not over, though.”

If Bucky had any doubts about Steve’s reaction to the ribbon, and the softcore sex dungeon vibes he had made of the bedroom, they’re broken the fuck down the second they come in. Steve goes stock still, but he squeezes Bucky’s hand, and his eyes widen and flutter. His mouth is rounded in a shocked little o, and Bucky nuzzles up behind him. “That’s not a blindfold, is it?” Steve says, before Bucky can explain anything.

Bucky shakes his head. “No. It’s for your wrists.” Steve hisses out something wordless on an exhale and Bucky smiles against his neck.

“Can I tell you what my plan is?” He asks, and Steve nods, touching Bucky’s hands where they’re winding around his middle. Bucky begins. “I’d like to hear you say please some more. Figures this is the best way I can do it.”

The air in their bedroom is slow and molten gold, and with the darkness outside it feels universal and grand, like it’s the only room that exists in the world. “You don’t have to tie me down to hear me say please.” Steve says, voice quiet, and Bucky presses his sharp grin into the skin behind Steve’s ear in a painless little nip.

“Baby, I think you can get a lot more desperate than what you’ve shown me.” He starts moving his hands, rubbing over Steve’s waist and chest and toying with his clothes. Steve turns his head so Bucky can see his flushed face, the shine on his lips where his tongue has been. “I’d like to see how far you can go.” He says, breathing against Steve’s ear. “How much you can take before you can’t hold back anymore. I’m gonna touch you, and play with you, and you’re gonna beg me to make you come, and I’m gonna say no a few times before saying yes.” It’s a bit of a power rush, seeing Steve shake like that, pressing himself back into Bucky like he needs to be closer than they are. “Is that cool?”

Steve nods. He’s breathing through his nose, deep and controlled.

“Yeah, I thought so.” Then he turns Steve around and kisses him once, backing him against the bed until Steve has to sit down. He kneels in front of him, putting his hands on his face. “We haven’t played like this before, so I’d like to have a safeword, just in case. If you tell me to stop, or fuck off, I will, but if you get in your head about things say yellow or red and I’ll back off, okay? No sweat, baby.”

Steve smiles, challenging and witty. “Someone’s been doing their research.”

“You think this is my first rodeo, kid?”

“Should I be jealous?”

“No, sweetheart. You’re the love of my life. Take your clothes off.” Steve does as he’s told with a smile on his face, because he only follows orders if they’re in his own best interest. When he’s down to his boxers Bucky kisses him and moves them up the bed, Steve looking flushed and excited, smiling up at Bucky in between kisses like this is the best day of his life, and Bucky can’t - when Steve smiles like that all he wants to do is kiss his face until he laughs. “What’s so funny, Rogers.” He asks, getting him flat on the bed and leaning over him, access to all that skin now. 

Steve just shakes his his and kisses Bucky deeper, tongue on the inside of his lip. “Nothing.” He says. “Love you, kid.”

And Bucky loves him, too, but he came here with a plan, so he kisses at Steve’s bicep and bites a little when the muscle flexes under his mouth. Then he finds the ribbon next to him. “Hands together, honey.” Steve shivers. “Over your head.” He leans away, straddling Steve’s hips and watches Steve raise his arms, crossing them at the wrist, and he - god, he looks good. Solid and sweet, strong and shining and in Bucky’s bed where he belongs. It’s quiet in their room, the rain and traffic and buzz of life outside feeling muted and far away. It’s only ten, but the clouds darkened the day prematurely, and in the low light Steve’s eyes are black, wide and happy and trusting. Slowly, Bucky reaches up and ties the ribbon around Steve’s wrists - it’s tight enough, but the fabric is a kind of soft that means Steve could wriggle out of them if he panicked or really wanted to. Steve has his head craned back to watch what Bucky’s doing, and then he looks up at him, smiling. Bucky puts a hand on Steve’s face. “You good?” He asks, and Steve nods, kisses the pad of his thumb.

“Real good.” He wriggles his hands, and then his hips, and then his hips again when Bucky puts his weight on him a little harder, and Steve grinds up against him like the little opportunistic hedonist he is. Bucky decides it’s as good a beginning as any, and when he grinds down Steve groans out loud. Bucky lets him have twenty seconds of the languid lazy rolls of his hips, feeling Steve get hard under him, and then puts a hand on Steve’s stomach, pressing down.

“Lie still.”

Steve does. Steve is _good_.

Bucky starts kissing over the span of his chest, over his shoulders and collar bones. He moves a little, to sit over Steve’s thighs and gets his mouth on his nipples, and Steve sighs happily. There’s a shiver to his skin, because even like this, laid out and held down, Steve Rogers never fucking knows how to take it easy. The build-up is slow and sweet, but when Bucky rubs a finger under the hem of Steve’s boxers, he’s shaking a little, damp with sweat and Bucky smiles at him. “You good?” He asks, and Steve’s foot twitches.

“Be better if you got moving.” In a sleek twist of his wrist, Bucky grabs Steve’s dick through his boxers and squeezes, not hard, but enough for his boy’s eyes to shut and his mouth to open. “Oh.” He says, like it’s a surprise. _Oh_ , like he didn’t think he’d get it. Bucky puts two fingers in the wet heat of Steve’s open mouth because the fuck else was he supposed to do, and Steve closes his mouth around them, scraping teeth against his knuckles. 

Bucky hums. “Is that how you wanna ask, baby?” Steve shakes his head at once, pulling Bucky’s hand with it. “No, of course not.” Bucky says. “How do you ask?” He puts his fingers a little deeper, smiling when Steve groans, then rubs them over Steve’s cheek, covered in wet, thick saliva. Steve coughs a little.

“Please.”

Bucky smiles. He makes it so easy. “Please what, baby?” _Please_ usually works just fine on its own, and Steve knows that, too, if the little irritated furrow between his eyebrows means anything, so Bucky just tightens his left hand until Steve bites down on his lip, and chokes out his next sentence.

“ _Yeah_ , please. Touch me.” Bucky kisses him, then, teases his mouth open and holds up his right hand.

“Spit.” He says, and Steve flushes cherry red in a second, but does he’s told so Bucky kisses him again, whispering “good boy” against his lips and swallowing the noises that spill out once he puts his hand in Steve’s boxers. His prosthetic is on Steve’s chests, circling his nipples and rubbing over his skin, smiling at the chills it leaves.

The first edge comes easy. 

Bucky’s grip is tight and wet and unforgiving because he knows how Steve likes it. “You wanna come, sweetheart?” He asks, other hand light on Steve’s nipple, barely touching. Steve twitches into a nod.

“Yeah, it’s - good, Bucky, yes.”

“Tell me then.”

Steve hesitates, which he always does at first - he’s always gotta be pushed around a little to really open up, so Bucky moves his other hand to press Steve’s wrists down in the mattress and gets real close. “Tell me you want to come. Baby,” he sings, “tell me you want it.”

“I wanna - oh, _oh,_ let me, I wanna come.”

Bucky takes his hand away, and Steve lets out a long, wounded “ _noooo_ ” and it’s fucking awful how Bucky’s dick twitches in his boxers at the sound of it. He presses his shark grin again Steve’s throat and gets up on his knees, moving off. “Sorry, Stevie.” Steve blinks up at him, and he’s pulling a face like he’s angry but he looks too soft to really focus, like the first edge knocked him out a bit. That’s good. Bucky likes him a lot when he’s too caught up in feeling good to give him any shit. “Let’s get these off, huh?” He hooks his fingers just under the waistband of Steve’s boxer briefs and kisses at the skin there, sinking his teeth into the jut of a hip bone when Steve’s wriggles his hips. “Good boy.” Bucky says, when he stops, twitching back into the mattress. Bucky pulls at his boxers and hums. “Pretty boy.” 

Keeping one hand curled around Steve’s hip, he drops the boxes on the floor and leans away to grab the little purple bottle next to the bed. 

Time turns slow, honey-drip golden between the long shadows of their bedroom. Steve’s sinks into the bed when Bucky gets two fingers in him, not lying still but also not demanding anything - just quietly circling his hips, sighing in contentment. Bucky keeps his fingers crooked, glancing over his prostate until Steve is squirming, sweat-slick and thoughtless and Bucky’s staring himself stupid. He stretches Steve out, three fingers pressing up and his thumb on the outside and Steve can’t stop moving, whipping his head from side to side.

“I know you can come like this. Talented little fucker.” Steve’s laugh splits in the middle, tapers off into a drawn-out groan that makes Bucky bite his lip. He moves his hand, pointing them and rubbing and when Steve’s legs twitch closed, he shoulders in between them and puts a hand on Steve’s dick, pressing it against his stomach. Steve chokes out a moan and Bucky bites out a “ _Yeah_ ” like a fucking idiot before swooping low to kiss him. Steve’s sounds pick up, and his voice is a mess of Bucky’s name and powerless littles pleas and Bucky’s an awful, awful person. “You close again?” He says, and Steve nods, bites his lower lip so hard it goes white. “Don’t take a lot, huh? Yeah, I know. Tell me when you’re gonna come.” He kisses wet, biting kisses into Steve’s mouth, licks at the sweat on his upper lip, whispers stupid little things into his ear, dirty enough that Steve hides his face in the crook of his elbow. 

His hips twitch upwards then, and he gasps, shaking his head - “I’m gonna, Bucky - “ And Bucky pulls his fingers out, as quick as he can, and leans away.

And - fuck, is the thing, good fucking _God_ _,_ is the thing.

Steve’s cock bobs in midair, fucking drooling precum while he twitches through what Bucky imagines is a bitch of a ruined orgasm. Every muscle in his body tenses and goes slack in little bursts of tension, and Bucky coos when he sees tears on Steve’s face, wetting his hairline. “You good, baby?” He puts his hands on the twitching skin of Steve’s thighs and Steve just bites out a wordless sob. “Breathe, huh?” In a little pocket of calm, Bucky waits unless Steve’s twitching, teary breathing slows down and evens out. He catches Steve’s eyes and Steve blinks tears out of them, giving him a broken little smile. 

He rubs a finger just under the head of Steve’s cock and his baby jackknives like he’s been punched. His hands come down and Bucky pushes them up again, patient and gentle, but his finger stays where there are, rubbing, ghosting over the head and Steve is gritting his teeth, hips twitching. He sounds like he’s gonna cry some more, hitching breaths halfway through his throat and Bucky’s heart aches a little.

Steve gasps. “Buck, it’s too much, I’m gonna - “

“Yeah, okay.” He takes his hand away and Steve immediately bites out a _no,_ hands moving as if to reach for him before remembering himself and that - God, Bucky’s gonna have to end this soon if his heart is gonna act up every time Steve obeys the rules that Bucky set up for him. “You want it back, huh? You like it when it hurts a little, Rogers?” Steve nods, helpless, and Bucky kisses him, dirty and wet and full of teeth. “You wanna come?”

“Yes, _please -”_

“God, sweetheart. I wanna give in so bad, you know.” Steve blinks up at him, teary, fluttering eyes and Bucky can’t get enough of looking at him, wants to cover him with body and hold him down. “Wanna make you come all over yourself.” Steve nods, whispers _yeah, yeah_ on an exhale. “I could.” Bucky says. “Honey, baby, _god_ , I could make you come right now, and you’d feel so good, it’d feel like heaven I bet, you’re all wet and loose and tipsy, I could make you feel so nice and you’d be so thankful.” 

“Yes, yes, Bucky, _please_ -”

Bucky kisses him, his lax mouth and his cheek, moving over his jaw and down his neck. “Yeah.” He says. “Beg me some more, honey, see what happens.” 

“I can - I wanna come, Bucky.”

“You’re a broken record, baby. Convince me.” It’s a lie, it’s such a lie, he’s already convinced. He kisses his way down Steve’s chest and stomach, biting until he squirms away, wriggling on the mattress because there’s nowhere to go. 

“I’ll - jesus, Bucky, I’ll do anything, I wanna - fuck me, honey, please, you should fuck me - “

Bucky groans, burying his face in the crook of Steve’s hip, so close to his cock that Steve must feel it, choking on a new breath. Bucky spends most of his life wanting to give Steve the world on a silver platter, and when Steve gets like this, soft and open and demanding still, it’s so difficult not to give in, to give and give until there’s nothing left. 

Steve could probably take a lot more, if Bucky asked him to. Which is the kicker, really - wonder of wonders, as desperate as Bucky is to see Steve pleased and cared for, Steve gets that right back. So if Bucky wanted it, Steve would probably keep going to the extent of his will just to make him happy. And it’s a fun game, because fucking around with Steve is the best thing he knows, but - but with the way he’s wired, giving in is a lot more natural.

It’s an easy decision. While the going is good, and so on.

He pulls his sweatpants down just enough to get his dick out, leaning over Steve on his left hand. Steve sighs into the kiss, but stops moving the second Bucky starts slowly pushing inside him, tensing up and then bleeding into nothing under him. Sweet boy.

Bucky bites at his open mouth. “Tell me please, baby.” He whispers. “One last time, come on.” It’s barely nothing when Steve gets it out, but Bucky nods, burrows closer and folds his spit-slick hand around Steve’s cock. “Whenever you want.”

It doesn’t happen right away like Bucky thought it would. He stares down at Steve and it’s - there’s barely any light left, the candles have almost burnt down, and the night sky has blackened out, but in what’s left of the golden-bright darkness he sees Steve’s brow furrow, hears his breathing pitch up. Bucky presses as close as he can get, feels tight and boxed in with Steve’s legs on his hips and after a handful of breaths Steve’s make a pained sound, tight and curled up and starts coming - he moves into it, hips rolling, and Bucky wonders where he goes when he gets like that. All mindless and strung out on it, shaking in Bucky’s hands. He keeps his hand moving on Steve’s cock, and grits his teeth through Steve tightening up around him, and shaking through and going slack, finally, eyes closing.

Bucky thinks he’s going to shake apart with how much he loves him.

In the morning Steve will pin him to the bed and kiss him stupid, ask him if it was _what he wanted_ like it wasn’t his birthday, and Bucky will say “you’re always what I want” and Steve will smile like he’s real pleased with that answer. For now, Bucky cleans up. Putting out the candles and drying off a little, detaching his prosthetic and folding down the fabric covering his shoulder. When he gets them under the covers, Steve moves, eyes still closed and still far away, but he curves towards him, covering Bucky with his cold hands and Bucky smiles into the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be real w y'all, I'm not sure about this fic?? I'm probably gonna edit the hell out of it at some point but man. it's been in my drafts for so long. there's a lot about it that I love, and other stuff that I don't like at all but couldn't get to w o r k for me. I've stared myself stupid at this point. anyway. would love to know what you think!!! peace.  
> oh, I'm love-springs on tumblr now. hmu.


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